


In a Crowd of Thousands

by authoredAria



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anastasia (1997) References, Anastasia AU, Historical Inaccuracy, It's inspired by the broadway version, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoredAria/pseuds/authoredAria
Summary: In 1917, the Bolsheviks attacked the royal Birkholtz family, toppling the empire of Russia in Lenin's favor. The entire Birkholtz family was killed.In 1927, Kent and Swoops are conmen looking for a way out of Russia while gaining riches. Holster is a lonely street sweeper with no memory of his life before being found on the side of a road.The greatest con in history may bring about far different results than the three expect.An Anastasia (Broadway) AU





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know the summary is lacking. I'll edit it later probs. This is self indulgent because I'm a huge dork for Anastasia (I saw the movie 63432 times and saw the Broadway production and LOVED IT) and OMGCP, and also Holster/Kent (Henny) because Ash introduced me to this rarepair hell.  
> I might get some details wrong. I'm working with my memory of the show, the wikipedia synopsis, and constantly listening to the OST. Some bits will involve my own imagination too.  
> Enjoy!

Snow swirls delicately through the air, stark white in the gentle moonlight over the cold skies of St. Petersberg. Though the air is cold and harsh, biting against the skin with each stiff bout of breeze, the air inside the palace was warm; usually the warmth and the gentle light were soothing to young prince Adam. On that cold night in 1907, it was anything but a comfort.

“Why must you go, Nana?” five year old Adam asked, blue eyes filling with tears as he pressed close to his beloved grandmother. The Dowager Empress let out a soft breath, smiling down at her grandson, placing an arm around his shoulders. 

“I’ve stayed too long here,” the empress said simply, voice soft and soothing. 

“Take me to Paris with you!” Adam perked up, remembering promises of strolls along the bridge named after his grandfather, of plans to go see as many ballets and plays as he wanted, of time spent with a woman who refused to admit he was her favorite, but he knew. Strong, stubborn, cheerful, just like his grandmother. Adam was heartbroken to even consider losing the person most dear to him. 

“Wherever I go, you’ll always be with me,” the empress promised, shifting on the bed and earning a curious look from Adam. When she lifted her hand again, a round box sat in her palm, a deep green, the same color Adam loved above all others, ornate gold decorating the edges of the box in a swirling trim. Adam gasped as he saw it, while his grandmother turned a key on the bottom, pressing a specific spot on the lid for the box to open, a familiar tune twinkling out of it. “Our lullaby. When you play it, think of an old woman who loves you very, very much,” she promised, before breaking into song, her voice soft and crooning. “ _Far away, long ago. Glowing dim as an ember. Things my heart used to know. Things it yearns to remember,_ ”

“ _And a song someone sings. Once upon a December,_ ” Adam joined in with singing, a smile overtaking his face, eyes no longer shining with tears, but with mirth instead. 

“Have you said your prayers, Adam?” the voice of his mother, the Tsarina, broke the reverie between the two, as Adam sat up straighter, but smiled at his mother.

“Yes, Mama,” he answered with a nod, while the Tsarina stood at the foot of his bed, looking at the two. 

“For your sisters?” she asked, tilting her head, the low lighting within Adam’s room making the jewels of her crown sparkle. “For your little brother?” 

“Yes, Mama,” Adam insisted. 

“For all of Russia in this troublesome time?” As she asked, Adam’s father strolled into the room, smiling as he stopped beside his eldest son as the boy nodded his head. 

“He has, my dear. He always does,” the Tsar said, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Now, the Tsar would like this first dance. What do you say?” he asked, mischief tugging at his lips in a way that Adam knew would make his mother hide her own mirth at the playfulness between the two. 

“The Grand Duke Adam Birkholtz says he would be honored,” Adam said as he stood, holding out his hand to his father, acting very proper and serious, while his father merely laughed and scooped him off the bed. He swung Adam around to imaginary music, while the boy’s childish laughter filled the air. Even with the heartbreak of his beloved Nana leaving, of the stress he knew the tumultuous conditions within Russia were placing on his parents, Adam went to sleep that night with a smile on his face, tucked into bed lovingly when he was too exhausted to remain awake. 

As the years went by and conditions in Russia grew no better, Adam grew up still under the care of his parents, a lanky, awkward child of barely fifteen come the June of 1917. He was dressed in glittering clothes, dancing around the hall with his elder sisters and younger brother. Music filled the air of the ballroom, and Adam was all smiles, hardly a care in the world beyond enjoying his time with his family. The ball was small but grand, and thus far the only hitch in the evening had been when his little brother fell while dancing about; even then, that was remedied by his father picking the child up and holding him on his hip. Even at sixteen, Adam still naively believed his strong, cheerful father, or his regal, but loving mother could solve all problems. They were two rocks, holding the foundation of their family in place, supporting them with protection and guidance. No harm could befall them, so long as their parents were there. 

A naive belief to have indeed. 

With the laughter, the music, the flashes of cameras, the loud crash and echo of a gunshot outside the walls of the palace was impossible to ignore. Everyone seemed to jolt to a harsh stop, looking around and going to the windows in shock and concern. Servants closed the arching glass doors, shuttered the windows, and surrounded the Birkholtz family as they huddled together. There was no more laughter or music, just shrieks of fear and faces full of panic as the sounds of an angry crowd grew nearer and nearer to the palace. 

Servants began to lead the family away, ushering them out of the ballroom to flee from the palace, to try desperately to find safety. Adam pulled away from their protective, leading hands, dashing back into the room for one thing; his beloved music box. In the low light, past broken glass from shattered windows, Adam tried to run back out of the room, to follow his family out of the palace. 

A single gunshot reverberated through the air, a chilling bang echoing against the ornate walls and high ceilings of the ballroom as Adam’s body fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. 

Outside the palace walls, within the closed off gates, gunshots and screams echoed through the air as the Birkholtz family was murdered in cold blood. 

Outside of Russia, far from the cold acts of the revolutionary Bolsheviks, an elderly woman clutches a letter in her hands, shaking as she holds it before he tear filled eyes, standing in the middle of her home in the safety of Paris. “All of them?” the Dowager Empress asks aloud to herself, voice filled with shock. “All of them!” she repeats, voice filled with anguish, with grief. A hand clasps over her heart, shaking as a single harsh sob left her lips, before turning to seclude herself to a newfound level of solitude in her dark, empty home.


	2. A Rumor and a Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I wrote this up sooner than I thought I would lmao. I can't say I'll post everything in a set schedule as I adjust to this semester's classes and all, but I'll do what I can to be quick? This is a whole chapter literally only inspired by the song "A Rumor in St. Petersburg". Idk if I'll do one chapter per song or not. We'll see how it goes.   
> Enjoy <3

“We hear you, comrades!” A strong voice cuts through the noise of people on the streets, of cars driving down the roads of Leningrad, loud and booming from the makeshift platform set in the square, despite the chill of the 1927 winter air. The cold is biting, chilling to the bone. Ragged clothes that the common people watching the General are wearing does nothing against the frigid temperatures, and the can fires set here and there do little to help either. “The revolution hears you! Together we will forge a new Russia that will be the envy of all the world! The Tsar’s St. Petersburg is now the peoples’ Leningrad!” The voice comes from a tall man, his breath visible in the air like smoke from a dragon’s maw, a crop of black hair peeking out from beneath his General’s cap as he speaks. General Chad Sokolov gesticulates with his hands as he speaks. 

“They can call it Leningrad, but it will always be Petersburg,” a man in the crowd says, smirk tugging at his lips, stretching over his pale, freckled cheeks. Kent gently elbows the woman next to him. “New name, same empty stomachs.” Other complaints crop up, mumbled by people who do not want the attention of angry Bolsheviks on their case. 

“Can’t cook a promise in an empty pot.”

“It’s really very friendly-” 

“If you don’t mind the spies!”

General Chad ignores these words, though his smile is more strained. These insolent commoners don’t seem to understand. These were the changes the revolution sought to bring. No longer were they oppressed under the royals; now, they were all equal, they were all free from the long suffering reign of the Birkholtz family. He doesn’t understand why there isn’t more joy, why they aren’t showing enthusiasm until provoked to. This was how things were meant to be, how they had to be in order for them to bring their motherland to greatness. “For three long centuries, they bound us, the chains of old Russia! But, we have broken them! We will forge a fair and compassionate Russia! Together!” 

“And he who argues, disappears,” Kent spoke up, voice cocky and sarcastic. Only when attention begins to turn on him does he call out a “Hail our great new land!” before running off to be away from law enforcement that began to step towards him. It wasn’t new to him, to scamper off and evade any confrontation with the law, both before and after the revolution. Only after the law enforcement left the square did Kent slink back. This was commonplace for him, to spend time among the other commoners of Russia. Eavesdropping led to gather news, to finding out ways to trick others to get himself by.  
Despite the spies that constantly lurked, people talked. They knew they were under constant supervision. The state was ever watchful, keeping everyone in line. They couldn’t speak out, not while under constant scrutiny. Rumors spread from ear to ear. It was a way to keep entertained and happy while struggling to make it each and every day. Some were outlandish, some were laced with truth. It never mattered to the gossipers. They found what little joy they could while keeping up the appearance of good and loyal comrades. They paid for their revolution, and just did what it took to make the best of their lives. Normally, Kent ignored gossip. A rumor was never much help to him. He never cared for rumors, but the talk of the town that day peaked his interest. 

“Have you heard? Although the Tsar did not survive, one son may be still alive,” a man whispered to another, gleeful before reminding him not to tell a soul. 

“They say her grandmama will pay a royal sum to see the Prince Adam returned alive,” an elderly woman whispered to another while strolling past, and that made Kent perk up even more to himself. He only turned when he heard his name called, focusing on the approaching familiar figure instead of the gossip being whispered all around him. 

“Kent! They’ve closed another border!” his accomplice and friend, Jeff, or Swoops as he was called by Kent, called out as he approached the blond man. “We should have gotten out while we still could! Now we’re stuck!” Swoops had only ever wanted to get out of Russia, from the very beginning of the tension years ago. The older man had “swooped in” and gotten himself a place as a Count in the royal court despite being raised as a common man, but with the royalty gone, he was the same as any other comrade on the streets. He would have been killed if not for Kent’s aid. It was what brought them together as friends, as partners in crime with cons cooked up between the two of them, as aids in getting each other out of Russia. 

“Swoops, I’ve been thinking about the Prince Adam,” Kent mused with a hum as the two walked, heading towards the market place. 

“Oh, not you too, Kent!” Swoops exclaimed, pushing himself away from Kent. He was used to Kent’s antics. While Swoops wasn’t innocent of lies and faking to get by and better his own situation, he was the responsible one of the two. He kept Kent in line enough to never put themselves at too much of a risk. Sometimes it felt like he was a parent to the younger man. Kent threw an arm around his shoulders though, pulling him in to speak in his ear. 

“Swoops, listen to me, man. Prince Adam will help us fly. You and I, we’ll go down in history. We find someone to play the Prince, take him to Paris, and “reunite” the two,” he promised, nudging Swoops.  
Kent could tell when he sold his friend on the plan when Swoops’ eyes lit up. “Imagine the reward his dear old grandmama will pay!”

It wasn’t difficult to picture it. Thousands of rubles, all to them. They could live in comfort, in luxury. Warm walls, soft beds, real baths. They’d never have to go to bed hungry again. They’d never have to forge fake papers or steal and sell goods to get by again. It’d be one con to end them all. The last job the would ever have to take. Kent could buy himself fine clothes, find a nice home in France or England, America even if he wanted to go that far away, even if Petersburg would always be his true home. Swoops would live the rest of his days in comfort as well, just like when he worked the courts in his favor. 

“Who else could pull it off but me and you?” Kent asked, grinning. He pulled away from Swoops as they nears carts of pilfered goods. Someone selling paintings, someone selling clothing, all claimed to have belonged to different royals, to different courtiers. Some may very well have been stolen from the palaces and grand halls. Others could easily have also just been duplicates, fakes made to get a few rubles to get by. There was no way to tell for certain. There never would be. 

“I found this in the palace, initialed with an A. It could be Adam’s! Now what will someone pay?” a voice called out, catching Kent’s attention. An ornate, old music box sat in the merchant’s hand; though dingy, there was still a beauty to the deep green color of it, and even with the years of hardship and hiding it must have endured, the music box was gorgeous. Something about it just drew Kent in, and he found himself walking towards the table, even as Swoops argued against it. 

“We need something of his to show the old lady,” Kent hissed, shutting up Swoops before turning his attention to the merchant. “How much is the music box?” 

“Ah! The music box! It’s genuine Birkholtz! I could never part with it,” the merchant said, pulling the music box close to his chest. As he spoke, Kent was already rummaging through his bag. 

“Two cans of beans?” he offered, raising an eyebrow as he held up the two cans. The merchant’s eyes went wide, immediately agreeing, tossing the music box carelessly to Kent to snag the cans, who caught it with ease. As he pulled Swoops away, Kent stashed the music box away carefully in his bag. “Do you believe in fairytales, Swoops?”

“Once upon a time I did,” Swoops answered dryly, rolling his eyes. He was used to Kent’s antics. That didn’t mean he was as confident in this plot as Kent was, once he thought of the logistics again.   
“We’ll create our own damn fairytale. One for the whole world to love!” Kent exclaimed with a grin. “It’s risky, but not more than usual. Papers, tickets, nerves of steel. We’ll cross the border with our prince and our plot. We’ll be rich!” 

“If we don’t get caught and shot,” Swoops answered, trying to be the voice of reason for his younger counterpart. Still, he was grinning. “We’ll be out! We’ll be rich!” The two plotted. They’d need to find a potential Prince Adam. Someone to play the part. Tryouts could be planned, spread in whispers and secrecy. They made their way out of the square, towards the old palace, where they often holed away from the weather, and from prying eyes and ears. 

As they left the square behind, they didn’t hear the loud bang that reverberated through the air, echoing on the harsh, biting, cold wind. They didn’t hear the scream of “No!” full of panic and fear, or see the tall, thin street sweep dive to the ground and cover himself, broom forgotten. 

“It was a truck backfiring, comrade,” General Chad spoke, voice more gentle than most heard from him as he stepped forward in the empty square and helped the street sweep up. Chad had to look up at the tall man, meeting his gaze steadily. “That is all it was. Those days are over, neighbor against neighbor. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” There was no response, and Chad briefly frowned. His hands hadn’t pulled away from the large, cold ones of the strange young man before him; he hadn’t even noticed he was still holding his hands. Normally he’d pull away immediately instead of leave his touch to linger. Now though, he noticed the heavy trembling in those thin, dirty hands. “You’re shaking. There’s a tea shop just steps from here, let me-” 

“Thank you,” the stranger spoke up quickly, pulling his hands from the General’s, grabbing his broom and holding it against his chest. He refused to meet Chad’s gaze. 

“What’s your hurry?” Chad asked, frowning. He was bothered by the refusal to interact, by the fear still palpable from the man. Something wasn’t quite right, and he couldn’t tell what it was that gave him that feeling. Was it the haunted look to those big blue eyes behind those wire-framed glasses? Was it the tremble to his bottom lip matching the shaking in his hand? Was it the tilt of his head, as though trying to understand the kindness being shown to him?

“I can’t lose this job. They’re not easy to come by,” the strange sweep said, before clearing his throat. He looked at Chad briefly, blond hair flopping in front of his face a bit, shaggy and messy in a way Chad found endearing. That thought would have made the General freeze, but he was caught instead with focusing on the timid smile the stranger shot his way. “But thank you.” 

“I’m here everyday,” Chad answered, barely getting the words out as the street sweep ducked away from him and hurried away. He starred after the man, handsome even in ragged clothes, dirt smeared on one cheek. Like a timid pup, Chad was drawn to protect him, to make him his own. It wasn’t a thought he wanted to have. It was completely unbidden, and actually surprised him. Chad hadn’t even gotten the sweep’s name, and yet he was drawn to watch his retreat, like the sun going down over the horizon of his homeland before another chilly night.


	3. No Memories, New Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Two chapters at once? This was all one chapter but it was so long that I tweaked it and it turned into two. What is a reasonable updating schedule? What are good chapter titles? What is beta reading? The world may never know. This is literally only inspired by "In My Dreams" (aka one of my fave songs from the show). Is it reasonable for men in 1920s Russia to call each other handsome? Are they in character at all? Doesn't matter, this is just fun fiction that I love and hope others at least semi like.  
> Enjoy <3

The air was thick with years of dust and a severe lack of acting skills. The lighting was dim, mostly coming through cracks in the boards on the windows, and from the few lamps lit. The ceilings arched high above, sparse furniture covered in yellowing sheets, or scattered about in pieces after the palace had been ransaked despite being boarded up and off limits to the public. The theater of Yusupov Palace had once been a grand room, with a stage along the back wall that was torn to pieces and piled high with junk after laying dormant for years. The once decorative walls were dark, smudged with layers of grime and dirt. Anything worth the least bit of money was gone, held on to as memorabilia by anyone who missed the old days of Russian Royalty, or sold in market squares to make a few rubles to get by. The wind blew harshly against the walls, which despite their age and lack of care, blocked out the cold better than anywhere Kent and Swoops had broken into and holed up in before. That didn't make this experience anymore worthwhile to Kent.

“You know, you’d probably seem more like Adam if you spit the gum out,” Kent spoke up from his seat behind a small table. Holding the auditions there, in secret, had seemed like a good idea. He was very quickly losing all hope and patience. Every single man who showed for the tryouts had been terrible. None of them fit the look of a long lost royal. None of them had the talent to play a regal personality. None of them fit the bill, and each was angry when sent away. Kent was no happier sending people away, seeing as it lessened the pool of potential Adams until only three remained, none of which were any good. He wanted nothing more than to slam his face into the table in front of him. Maybe drive his pen into his ears then his eyes. Anything to be away from the train wreck going on in front of him. 

“It’s not gum, it’s tobacco!” The Adam wanna-be called out, earning a groan and rolled eyes from Kent. Tobacco. Very regal. He was really hamming it up on stage too. “It’s me, Grandmama,” just hearing him draw the title out made Kent’s eye twitch, while Swoops did his best to suppress a snicker as he continued, “your precious _Adam_!” As he’s acting (if that’s what Kent could call it), he nearly throws himself at the two conmen dramatically. The two other potential Adams laugh behind her. 

“I think we’re done here,” Kent says, shutting the three men up. “Get out. None of you fit the part. I’m pretty sure I’d make a more convincing Adam with my pants down and my pasty ass out for all the world to see.” Even Swoops couldn’t hold back his laugh at that. 

“If you weren’t so handsome, Kent, I’d report you!” The hammy actor complained, looking ready to argue back as Swoops motioned them out. Kent was pretty sure sending a wink their way did nothing to help their anger. They did leave, huffing all the while about how unfair and rude Kent was. It wasn’t like he cared what they thought. Kent had an image he maintained: aloof, uncaring, and skilled at his sleight of hand and plot making. The opinions of a few of his fellow street rats wasn’t his concern.

After a beat of silence and the slam of the door, Swoops leaned back in his seat and sighed. “They were the last boys in Petersburg willing to try out, Kent. You know that, right?” he asked, looking to his partner with a raised brow. Of course he had to stick with his whole “voice of reason” schtick, much to Kent’s annoyance. Why did he have to befriend and work with someone who was actually responsible? 

“Then I’ll have to look somewhere else. We can find an Adam in Siberia,” Kent answered, running a hand through his hair. That was a long way to go for a single imposter, especially with very little money between the two of them. Kent was determined to find the perfect Adam Birkholtz though. They needed the perfect man for the part, or their plan would never work, and they’d have nothing.  
“Have you been to Siberia?” Swoops asked, seeming absolutely scandalized by the idea. Kent could hardly contain his smirk at that, snickering gently while Swoops rolling his eyes, indignant. Both men seemingly had to just give up on finding a good imposter in the area, when they heard the creek of the door, and footfalls entering the room. Without expecting anyone else coming to tryout for the part, both men scramble to hide, only for a tall, lost looking man to wander into the room. 

“Hello?” the man called out uncertainly, looking around. “I’m looking for Kent?” Kent is definitely not going to stand up for this person, his heart hammering against his chest. What if it were a spy? What if it were someone from the Bolsheviks, looking for them? What if news got out about their plot? What if-

“That’s Kent, with a chair over his head.” Damn it, Swoops. Jeff had perked up from behind the table, pointing to where Kent had been hiding. Of course he was going to sell Kent out. 

Kent could only groan, standing up, dusting himself off as he stared at the strange, albeit handsome, man that was looking for him. He certainly didn’t look like what most people working for the law tended to look like. He stuck out, with his ocean blue eyes, with the endearingly crooked silver glasses perched high on his nose, with his incredible height. The only average part to his persona were the old trousers, the worn out overcoat, the dusty shoes. “What do you want?” he asked, frowning, his arms crossing over his chest after assessing the stranger.

“Papers. I was told you could get papers for people, to get out of Russia,” the man says, earnest and wide eyed in a way no one ever seemed to be anymore. It was almost naive. How could anyone be this trusting of strangers without even having proof of who he was talking to? He leaned into Kent’s space, and Kent just scoffed and backed up. 

“The right papers for that sort of thing will cost a lot of money that you don’t seem like you got, kid,” he said,shaking his head. He wasn’t going to put his neck out for some man who wasn’t going to make it worth it. He could feel the disapproving gaze of Swoops on him, but Kent pointedly didn’t look towards him. 

“I saved up some money! I can get more to you once I get out of here!” The man was insistent, Kent gave him that. Still, money was money. It was hard to get by these days, and it was every man for himself, no matter what those in charge had to say about everyone being “comrades”. Before Kent could open his mouth, the stranger looked around them, his brows furrowing. “Here… I’ve been here before,” he mused quietly. 

“The palace’s theater? I doubt that,” Kent scoffed. No one aside from royals and their courtiers got to be in the room they were in, until then. His dismissal didn’t seem to throw the stranger off though. Instead, the man didn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, walking around slowly, as though in a daze. 

“There was a play that I saw here…. A long time ago. It was something funny, I remember the crowd laughing…” The more he mused, the more the tall blond seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, down a rabbit hole of absolute crazytalk as far as Kent was concerned. When he stumbled, Swoops caught his arm, directing the man to sit down in a chair. 

“Kent, fetch him some water?” Swoops asked, but in his tone of voice that meant it wasn’t a request he expected to have Kent ignore. What did he think he was? Kent’s father?

“Why do we have to give any of it to that psycho?” Kent asked, hissing it in a low voice. Swoops smacked his hip, and Kent just huffed, walking out of the room as Swoops focused on getting the man out of his daze, kneeling next to him. “I’m sorry about him,” Swoops said, once the stranger was focused on him. Swoops seemed to study him closely, before letting out a soft breath. “Life hasn’t been easy for Kent.” 

Seemingly back to himself, the stranger looked at Swoops for a moment, before shaking his head. “Life hasn’t been easy for anyone,” he pointed out with a soft huff. He took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses to try to straighten them before turning his gaze away from Swoops. 

When Kent returned, offering the glass of water silently, Swoops stood up, leaning in close to Kent. “Don’t be too quick about this one,” Swoops mumbled, which he’d mumbled for every Adam try out that Kent tried to write off immediately. Kent looked between the stranger and Swoops, eyes going wide with annoyed disbelief. 

“Him?!” he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. He was certain Swoops had caught whatever the stranger had that led to him losing his mind. Swoops was supposed to be the level headed one between them. There was absolutely no way that Swoops thought this psycho could play a halfway convincing Prince Adam. Sure, maybe he had the Tsar’s height, and the bright blue eyes that seemed to run in the Birkholtz family, but beyond the looks, there was no way they could train someone who was insane to play the part well. “What? Are you crazy too?” 

“What’s your name, man?” Swoops asked, settling in another chair and flat out ignoring Kent, like he often did when Kent’s temper flared between them. 

There was a moment of silence as the unknown man drank the water given to him, before staring at Swoops with a small frown, cradling the glass carefully in his lap. “I don’t know,” he finally said, sounding small for someone who towered over both the men before him.

“You don’t know?” Swoops asked, now sounding like the surprised one, tone almost as judging as Kent’s. Kent felt validation, and knew there was a slight smirk on his face. Now was where Swoops would eat his words! Here was proof Kent was right, this man was crazy, and there was no way that he could play the Grand Duke convincingly. 

“They gave me a name! At the hospital! Well, a nickname. Holster. Uh, like a gun in a holster, I guess?” the man, Holster, explained, shrugging his shoulders. “I was immediately just so protective of the younger kids in the hospital, and I didn’t remember my name, so the nickname stuck, even after I grew up and left.” He seemed to ramble on now, while Kent and Swoops merely both stared. “They told me I have amnesia. There was nothing they could do about it.” 

All the validation Kent felt vanished. Amnesia? Absolutely no memory of his life, or who he even was? That felt terrible just to imagine, to mentally put himself in the shoes of a child in a hospital, with nowhere to go and no known family to turn to, without even a name of his own in his mind. Kent cherished his memories of his mother, of his childhood, of happier days he’d had when he was young. Not having anything, being an entirely blank slate… It terrified him to imagine. He regretted saying Holster was crazy now. He didn’t dare to voice it, but the regret was there, heavy in his chest. It was as heavy as the silence that hung in the cold air, as the dust swirling around them like eternal snow. The air felt charged with a tension Kent didn’t know how to handle. 

Swoops spoke up, the first to find his voice between himself and Kent. “Tell us what you do remember, then?” There was a hesitance to his voice. He was the one that was better with handling delicate topics. Kent would rather just not deal with them usually, bottling up his own feelings or barrelling past the feelings of others when they were too much to handle.

Another beat of silence, Holster seemed to be gathering his thoughts, looking between the two men; it was an analytical look, as though he was deciding if he really wanted to open up about himself to them beyond what he had already said. “They said I was found on the side of a road. There were tracks all around, and it had recently snowed. Darkness, it was cold. Just some boy with no name, and no memories from before then,” Holster began to explain, and Kent found himself enraptured in just listening to his deep voice detail this life story. 

“I remember rain on the windows, and scratchy sheets on a hospital bed. Nurses that scared the hell out of me whispering as if I couldn’t hear them. _“Call the child Holster. Give the child a hat.”_ And I don’t remember anything before that.” They wanted to ask, Kent and Swoops both did. They couldn’t find it in themselves to interrupt, not when Holster opened his mouth again. “I’ve traveled through backwoods, by foot, on all the roads, to get halfway across the country just to be here. Worked whatever jobs I could after leaving the hospital when I was eighteen. Take what I needed, worked when I could. Kept my courage up,” Holster explained further, managing a brief smile. “Things call out to me in my dreams, but I can never remember when I wake up. But I know I will someday. But I do know one thing I dream about. Paris. I remember a voice whispering that it’ll meet me in Paris. It’s why I want to leave Russia so badly.” 

The smile disappeared as Holster spoke, shaking his head. “You don’t know what it’s like; not knowing who you are, and all. I’ve seen fire and heard echoes of screams, but I know there’s more to my dreams than that. I know Paris is calling to me, and I hope if I go, I’ll remember myself there. I’ll be able to find my family there. I’ll find a home, a life, a family. I just know it. One day it will.”  
After Holster shut his mouth, swallowing harshly, Kent and Swoops could only stare. The silence of the palace was nearly suffocating around them after such a tale. They were certain Holster didn’t even intend to reveal that much about himself to them. He seemed to have gone back into a daze as he spoke. Coughing, Kent met Swoops’ gaze as Holster came back to himself, mumbling an apology for rambling so much. God himself seemed to have placed this chance right in their laps. Someone who didn’t remember their past? Easy to manipulate. Those were Kent’s thoughts at least. Even if he’d felt sympathy, Kent put himself first. Some sob story from a stranger wasn’t about to change that.

“Well, we just so happen to be planning to go to Paris,” Swoops said with a small grin when Holster blinked at him in surprise. 

“We’re trying to find the Prince Adam. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” Kent drawled, stepping closer to Holster now. He could see the recognition on Holster’s face, and the curiosity in his eyes. . “And I think you might just be him.” 

“Me? No way!” Holster said, letting out a snort, which Kent frowned at. How could someone with amnesia shoot down the idea that quickly and easily? His disbelief was obvious, and annoying. It was putting a hitch to this easy con job Kent had hoped for. 

“Are you sure? How would you know you aren’t? You don’t even remember who you are!” That was a bit much. Kent knew that when he said the words, when Swoops shot him a pointed look and Holster seemed to balk for a moment, but he couldn’t take them back. He almost considered apologizing for being so blunt, but Holster seemed to be considering it after taking a breath during the pregnant pause between them. The silence was deafening. All Kent wanted was an answer, some sign that this was working, that Holster was being convinced. 

“And if I’m not..? How would you know if I am?” Holster asked, looking between Kent and Swoops. Hook, line, sinker. Kent knew they had him now. They’d convince and recruit him, and they’d have their Grand Duke Adam imposter.

“Well, the Dowager Empress would know once you met. If you aren’t, we let her know it was an honest mistake,” Swoops said, after stepping to Kent’s side and elbowing him into silence. “And you’ll be in Paris if we are mistaken. We teach you about being regal again, maybe jog your memory. If you don’t remember, we’ll find out in Paris. And if we’re right, your family is reunited, and we get a… Small reward, of reuniting the royal family that remains.” 

Holster was quiet, seeming to mull it all over. This was why Kent was glad to have Swoops around. He wasn’t any good at the emotional appeals. He could sweet talk, could tell lies in circles around people, and was quick on his feet to escape a backfiring plan. It was simple enough for Kent to convince people, until it came to appeals to the heart instead of to the mind, greed, or pride. He didn’t know how to convince people with emotional issues and talk them through mental moral battles. Swoops was far better with that skill set, especially after experiencing the court.

“When you put it that way…” Holster said, before taking a small breath. “I guess there’s no harm in trying? If you really think I might be the Prince?” He sounded a bit excited, even if he was still uncertain, nervously seeking the assurance. 

“Of course!” Kent exclaimed, giving his winning, bright smile. That seemed to be enough for Holster to be convinced. The idea he was a Grand Duke, lost for years, it was tantalizing. He’d have someone to turn to for family, finally, and a legacy to look back on and call his own. Kent knew that the idea was appealing to anyone, even without the tragedy of amnesia. The amnesia was just an aid for him to exploit for his own gain. 

“Okay! Let’s give it a shot then!” Holster agreed, holding out his hand. Kent and Swoops each shook it with a grin. There was work to be done; rules and etiquette had to be taught, papers had to be forged, money had to be raised for the train tickets. But they had a Grand Duke Adam Birkholtz to show the Empress. They had a face for the name, and all Kent had to do was wait for the rubles to come his way once it all worked out. This would be the easiest and most worthwhile con of his yet, he was sure.


End file.
